


The Widow's Share

by Rivine



Category: Voynich Manuscript (Book)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Public Nudity, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivine/pseuds/Rivine
Summary: He suggests an interpretation in German also for the brief words found on folio 66r. near a figure of a man lying on his back as if sick or dead, and surrounded by several ambiguous objects. He reads the text as "der mussteil", referring to the obligatory endowment of a widow with household goods on her husband's death.—D'Imperio, M. E. (1978). The Voynich Manuscript: An Elegant Enigma (PDF).Alternatively, the naked man in the illustration is not the dead husband, and he—not the objects around him—is the widow's share.





	The Widow's Share

**Author's Note:**

> Additional notes at the end.

It was the third young man that the widow took as her share. The first was too long in the arm when she held her late husband’s tunic up against him, and the second was too short. She could have taken a small liberty and rolled the cuffs once, but she liked to keep her dealings fair, and besides, one of the young women had been eyeing the man and blushing. The widow had her right to claim a match for her empty tunic before any unmarried woman could go up to the fence with her new-sown clothes, but there was no need to leave the poor girl feeling she had lost out.

She could remember her first Men’s Fair, and how she had fretted as the ancient-looking widows had taken their own sweet time finding a man to fit the faded, threadbare tunics they had brought. By the time it was her turn to go to the pen that held sheep and cattle every year at the ordinary fairs and the young men every several years, her sweaty palms had pressed wrinkles into the fabric she had dyed, and cut, and sewn so carefully. But still, her man had looked fine in it.

The widow set aside her thoughts of her first husband, and beckoned the third man forward. He came to the fence without hesitation, and she held the tunic up to his shoulders. The sleeves fell to the right length on his arms, and he had a pleasant enough attitude to him, so she bunched up the tunic around its collar and put it over his head. He slid his arms into the sleeves and pulled the rest down past his hips, no doubt glad for the warmth on the breezy spring day, even if perhaps he had been quietly hoping she would pass him by and a young bride would chose him. But then again, perhaps he was pleased, because it was no small thing to go to a house already settled and a wife who had the running of it. And, too, she had saved him the inspection the widow next to her gave all the young men she called over, where she checked the size of things that a tunic’s fit, in all honesty, was not affected by.

She met her husband at the gate to lift the latch for him, and handed him the shoes she had left there while she made her selection. He was young, and young men were often hungry, so she unwrapped the thick slice of bread spread with soft cheese that she brought for him. He thanked her nicely, calling her _mistress_ and offering her half of it.

He made no objection when she told him they would leave for home immediately, as she had no close kin to watch make their choices or be chosen. Her eldest daughter had married at the previous Men’s Fair, and her younger two children would wait for the next Fair, when the girl would be just turned twenty and the boy followed close at her heels, with less than a year between them. The widow had been more impetuous, once, although she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

Her village—now her husband’s as well—was not far from where the fairs were held, but it was still drawing towards evening when they arrived. Some of the newly-wed couples passed them on their way, the younger brides’ steps lighter and more eager than her own, but she didn’t mind.

When they arrived, her eldest greeted them at the door as was proper, but kept casting fond glances at her own husband instead of paying much heed to the new man. She had always been one to sigh over ballads and tales of love, and her first anniversary was a delight to her. The widow’s other two were more attentive, watching their mother’s new husband with barely-concealed fascination. Her younger daughter would be choosing her own young man at the next Men’s Fair, and looked at him appraisingly, while her son would be following his footsteps, and watched him like a hawk. But still, they remembered their manners well enough during the dinner her eldest had prepared, and all managed to excuse themselves to their beds with reasonable courtesy, albeit her oldest daughter with more haste.

Her husband, who had weathered the day with quiet good cheer and acquiescence, appeared nervous at last. She could remember her own anxiousness when she went to her marriage bed as a young woman, and how her first husband had tried to bluff his way through his. This new man seemed to be less inclined to take that tack, so she simply told him to take off his tunic and lie down on the pallet. He complied, although the poor man was caught astride the fence, neither hard enough to be of use nor soft enough to keep his composure before his new wife, and by the flush on his face he was well aware of both. She didn’t miss being young and nervous.

“I’ve married before,” she said, “so there’ll be no blood from tonight.” Not that every bride went to her first marriage a virgin, or bled even if she was, but a stain on the linen was expected. A good groom would nick his own skin if the sheet needed an helping dab before it was hung out to air. She thought hers would be one to offer, had he been in the position to. “Did your kinfolk tell you about the other way to show you’ve done your duty by me?” she asked him.

“Yes, mistress,” he answered, although he still looked a touch unsure. That came as no surprise to her, as there were only a few widows at each Men’s Fair, and there was always less talk about what to expect from second marriages than from firsts. And, too, there was less hanging from the shutters for a lad to notice on his own and ask questions about.

“We’ll see to it that there’s no talk from the neighbors come morning, don’t you worry about that,” she told him, in case he was afraid he might have difficulty. She could always send him out to the privy, if he couldn’t manage it in bed, but there was no need to turn to that yet.

She went to the small chest by the head of the bed and took out the lambskin the woman who lived over the hill had told her how to make from sheep’s gut, after her first husband had been laid to rest. She was a diligent old woman, who had explained several things the new widow had already learned from many years of marriage, and a few more that she hadn’t.

“What shall I do?” her new husband asked, making as if to sit up from the bed.

“You just get yourself ready,” she said, putting a hand to his chest to keep him from rising. When he blushed harder, she took pity on him and picked up his hand from the bedspread and moved it to his half-hard cock.

“Would you—?” he asked, placing his other hand lightly on top of hers.

She stroked along with him, her fingers interlaced with his, until he was fully hard. It didn’t take much, but she had time to look him up and down with more interest than she had had at the Fair, and notice the small scar on his shoulder and the reddish tint to the hair below her hand. He was a pleasant enough man to look at, and all the better for the way he watched her hand move with his.

She pulled his hands away from his cock so she could take the lambskin and slip it over him. He twitched when she crossed the string ties behind his balls, and took a short breathe when she pulled them snug around the base of his cock. The bow she tied there would keep the sheath in place, and also keep him in the proper state should he start to falter. She felt she owed it to him to make this an easy wedding night with no mishaps, but that aside, he did look fine with the strings tied up neatly in a bow above his cock and the lambskin covering the hard length of him. She would find it no hardship at all, to ride a man like him as long as was needed. And ride him she intended to, thanking her luck that although her back might ache in the mornings, her knees and hips were strong still.

She hiked up her skirts about her waist and swung her leg over him. Gingerly at first, and then with more urgency, he ran his hands along her thighs as she knelt on the bed and shifted herself into position above him. He moved his hands higher, finding the confidence to press against her cunt. He was breathing hard, now, and she was beginning to as well. She let herself sink down onto his cock, while he made a good soft sound as he watched her settle down onto him. She stayed there a moment, feeling his cock inside her, the lambskin hidden except for the ends of the bow trailing out from where the curls of his ruddy and her dark hair met.

She raised herself a little and then slid back down, making him moan quietly. She rode him more briskly, rocking her hips to find the right angle. He was panting now, and she could feel the sweat beginning to stick between his hands and her thighs. She took one of his hands and put his fingertips to her front, showing him how to rub them against her until with a shuddering breath, she had her pleasure. He moaned louder, and then when the next wave of release clenched her tight around him, his hips jerked up as he came to his own end.

For the sake of the lambskin strings tied about his cock, she did not linger atop his as she might otherwise have done after a satisfying conclusion. Instead she dismounted, slowly for the sake of her tired muscles, and pulled the bow loose. She would tie the soiled lambskin to the window sill in the morning, but for now she let it drop to the floor, and lay down beside her husband.

**Author's Note:**

> This has very limited attempts at historical accuracy. The system of selecting husbands is picking them out of a pen at a fair (the same pen is also used for livestock at different fairs). There is a sheep-intestine condom used as a means of proving consummation of the marriage, and the ties for it are also used as a cock ring.


End file.
